


Only Lovesick Losers Write Poetry

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pining Dean, Poetry, love notes sort of, this is dumb and cute hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's December of his senior year when Dean starts finding the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Lovesick Losers Write Poetry

The first time one falls out of his locker, Dean's opening up the door with Sam groaning at his side; it's something about geometry homework, but he's not really sure. He's too caught up with the small note that just landed at his feet. It's about the size of his palm, folded in half with writing scribbled on the inside.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam asks, leaning around the locker door to see why his brother had spontaneously crouched to the floor. 

He picks up the note and stuffs it in the pocket of his hoodie, the brown cloth hiding whatever message had been left. "It's nothing, Sam. Just dropped something. What were you saying about squares?"

They walk back to the car, Dean trying not to get his hopes up for anything inside the note. It was probably some kind of gag message from Benny, or maybe even a love letter from one of the freshman girls - he'd gotten three already, and each time he rejected them. Dean doesn't really care about the whole dating thing anymore - it was hard to focus on anyone else when he was practically in love with his best friend. Not that Cas knew about that. 

Some small part of Dean was selfish enough to hope that the note  _was_ from Cas - but the scribbling on the inside wasn't his handwriting. Hell, they'd been friends since they were born, and Dean knew Castiel Novak like the back of his hand. Cas left soft, small letters in his notebook and editing around Dean's papers, not the tall scribbling that was on the inside of the note. No, there was no way that this could be Cas - every time there was just another sign that his feelings weren't requited, Dean could feel something cold fill up in his chest. 

"Dude, are you even listening?"

"What?"

Sam sighs from the passenger seat, turning his head to the window. "I've been talking since we left school and you haven't even  _responded-"_

"Uh, no. You're not talking, you're bitching. There's a difference."

"Jerk."

Sam gives him a fake punch to the shoulder before stepping out of the car and into the driveway, leaving Dean with the weight in his pocket and someplace too quiet. He takes a deep breath before he takes the paper out, not wanting to have another girl to turn down. It gets tiring after awhile. 

The paper has a coffee stain on the top left corner, and Dean can't help but feel that chill run up his spine. All the late nights he and Cas spent in each other's rooms, mugs in hand, the steaming liquid keeping them awake. Dean hadn't even liked coffee, but he's learned to - without it, he can't stay up until two AM talking to his friend. 

 _Damn, if a fucking stain makes you think about him, you have a problem,_ he tells himself. He shakes his head once before opening up the note, eyes flitting over the paper once and then twice. He shakes his head again, then reads it over  _again._

_I am never not astonished by the green of your eyes -_

_their color renders forests in shades of gray_

_the sea is sapped of emerald waves, leaving simple sapphire behind._

_The freckles that splatter your cheeks make me think_

_the stars in all the heavens have landed upon someone as wonderful as you._

_And you, Dean Winchester_

_oh, how I wish I could articulate how much you matter to me_

_But in my world of stars, you are the entire sky._

 

Dean's not a poet. The thing right in his hand might be a shitty poem for all he knows, but to him - it's the most romantic, ridiculous,  _loving_ thing he's ever received. When he finishes reading it a fifth time, his cheeks are flushed and it's hard not to smile. After all, he feels good after reading it - he remembers one of his English teachers saying that "if a work of fiction invokes any sort of emotional reaction, it's good". Well.

It's a damn good poem. 

 

***

 

The next day at school, another note - pastel blue, not yellow - drops to his feet after third period. He's not in the best of moods - he hasn't seen Cas all morning, even after texting him at a rate that could be considered excessive. So instead of walking with Cas to get his stuff, he'd walking with Charlie - he loves Charlie, but she acts more like a little sister than a friend most days. 

"What's that?"

Dean pauses mid-grab, his fingers barely touching the edge of the paper. He quickly takes it up, probably crushing it in the process of stuffing it in his jeans. "What? What - nothing,"  _Smooth, Winchester._

"There is definitely something! What was that? Did another freshman leave you a note?" Charlie gets into his personal space, almost backing him up against the lockers. She's almost  _bouncing_ in excitement - there's nothing she likes more than a good story.

"No, I just dropped some homework," Dean lies, looking down the hall and desperately trying to find someone he could call out to. 

"But you never even  _do_ homework. What was it? Promise I won't tell Cas if you've got a new boyfriend."

 _That_ gets Dean's attention. He whips his head around, scarlet coloring his cheeks and making everything feel ten degrees too hot. "Charlie, Cas isn't my  _boyfriend."_

"But you want him to be." 

Dean can't even try and deny it anymore. Charlie can read him more easily than most people, and once she figures something out, she doesn't forget it. She gives him a soft look, something akin to pity - Dean hates that look. He gets it when he tells people his dad's dead, he gets it when he tells people he has to work two extra jobs, and he gets it whenever Charlie figures out something like this. 

"Look, I don't - I don't, okay? We're friends. That's all we're ever gonna be." 

 _Except that's not true,_ he hears in the back of his head. He hears all those little laughs from Cas that makes his heart flutter, the lingering gazes that make him want to reach out and kiss all of those sweet smiles from Castiel's lips. The time Cas fell asleep in his room and slept on his shoulder, hand delicately wrapped in Dean's shirt; there was the instance after school one day when Dean couldn't take it anymore, and he let himself cry against his friend's chest. He remembers the gentle cradle of Castiel's arms on his shoulders, the way his hand had carded through his hair - he especially remembers what almost felt like a kiss against his forehead, but he might have imagined it.  _You probably imagined it._

"I think he likes you too, y'know. He gets this dreamy look in his eyes when you aren't staring back," Charlie's words come out like soft fog, gently wrapping around Dean and providing a comfort he's not used to. 

"Thanks, Charlie. But it's a lost cause anyway." 

Charlie gives him a hug, the hallway mostly empty now except for a few stragglers. Once she runs off to her next class, Dean grabs the note and opens it, attempting to smooth out all of the crinkles in the paper. 

 

_There are times when I doubt my feelings about God,_

_or Life,_

_and - on occasion - my Family._

_But not once in my time on this earth_

_have I ever doubted my passion for you._

 

He grins stupidly at the note and tries to ignore the cold that still wraps around his shoulders. 

 

***

 

The notes keep coming. Every day there's a new one - always colored in pale yellow, blue, or gray. It's the same scribbly handwriting every time, and Dean's tried analyzing almost every student's handwriting to find a match. He thought he found it in Lisa Braeden, but her i's were dotted differently than in the notes. No match could be found. 

Dean stops caring about who it really is - he just loves getting them. Nice, positive messages that make the day more bearable. Besides, he has a soft hope that he won't admit aloud. 

The thing is, every time Cas walks with him to his locker and a note falls out, Castiel falls silent. He'll look away, or sometimes pick it up and hand it back to Dean, their fingers brushing for a second and making sparks fly up and down Dean's skin.

He keeps the notes in the back of his sock drawer - it's the safest place for everything, after all. The best ones he'll carry in his pockets, sometimes - glancing at the words every now and then, pulling through the day. His favorites all make his heart beat faster; the only time it's ever done that is when Cas is around. 

 

_Your smile puts everything else bright in this world to shame._

 

_The sun and stars have nothing on your beauty_

_Adonis would fall to shame_

_If only he could meet you_

 

_Somehow_

_Almost everything reminds me of you now._

_The sun reflecting on your cheeks,_

_leaves of green that aren't quite green enough._

_The stars dancing in the sky aren't nearly as stunning_

_as the ones that fly across your skin_

 

_You deserve to be saved._

 

_***_

 

School ends on the nineteenth of December - nineteen notes in Dean's drawer, nineteen small pieces of hope for him to hold on to. He's got three weeks of staying home, just Mom and Sam and Cas; he was at their house so often, he was pretty much an honorary Winchester. 

The nineteenth note reads:

 

_Merry Christmas, Dean._

_I hope I can deliver the next note in person._

_I can only wish that you'll smile as brightly when you see me as when you see what I have written._

 

He tries not to get his hopes up.

 

***

 

Christmas comes, and with it comes Castiel. At midnight, he knocks on Dean's window three times - their way of knowing who it is - and Dean gladly lets him in. Castiel is wearing his stupid bee-patterned pajama pants and a tan sweatshirt that he never takes off. Dean complains about it, but he actually likes it - it's just a part of _Cas_. 

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Castiel is huffing as he stumbles through the window, shaking slightly from the cold. Dean immediately wraps a blanket around his friend, leaving his arms around Castiel's shoulders. The contact is fairly normal for them - besides, Cas needs all the heat he can get. They stand in the moonlight for awhile, just hugging and trying to warm up - Dean cherishes the warmth, resisting the urge to skate his hands over the muscles in Castiel's back and through his hair. 

"Dude, it's midnight," Dean mumbles into his shoulder. 

"I am aware. I had to give you your gift."

Dean perks up at that, leading his friend to sit on the bed. They hop in together, hands inches apart on the mattress. Dean fights the urge to reach out. "Gift?"

Castiel's eyes shift downward, almost looking like he's asleep. He licks his lips slowly, and Dean would just have to shift forward three inches-

"At one point in time, you said that only 'lovesick losers' write poetry. Correct?"

Cas looks at him, eyes nervous and face worried. Dean wants to kiss that expression off of his lips. "Yeah, Cas. I remember."

Castiel lets the blanket fall off of his shoulders, sitting up in the bed and running a hand through his already-messy hair. He takes a deep breath, hands visibly shaking. Dean takes them in his own, smiling slightly when Cas ceases the nervous movement. 

_"I've often wondered how the universe could have brought us together._

_Of all the chances and anomalies,_

_we managed to find_

_Each Other._

_And what a strange thing life is, to know_

_that one wrong decision could have given me a life_

_Without you._

_In all honesty -_

_That is not a world I would ever want to be in._ _"_

The second Castiel finishes, Dean practically pounces on him. He tugs the other boy forward, lips meeting and falling open. Dean keeps one hand wrapped tightly in Castiel's jacket, the other curving around his neck and gently stroking through the soft strands of hair at the nape. Castiel reciprocates instantly, mouth warm and wet. His hands are  _everywhere -_ he cradles Dean's face, runs his fingers down his chest, wraps his arms around Dean's waist. Dean is drowning in Castiel, and he couldn't be happier.

"Every single note was from you?" Dean mumbles the words at Cas kisses along his jaw, breath coming out in pants. Castiel leans close to his hear, softly nipping before responding. 

"Every one. The handwriting was purposely different."

Dean pushes him down on the bed, kissing him for another minute before he's smiling too much to continue. Their tongues slide together and they can't help the gentle sighs coming from their throats; it's the closest thing Dean has ever felt to heaven.

The cold feeling is gone, and all that surrounds Dean is warmth - and according to Castiel's notes,  _love -_ and he doesn't want any of it to end. He wants Cas to keep exploring his mouth, hands rubbing along his sides as Dean runs his fingers through his hair, lips marking necks and meeting again. When they stop, Dean's grin is contagious; they lie back together, Castiel against the headboard and Dean between his legs, cheek resting against his chest. 

"Merry Christmas, Dean." 

"Merry Christmas, Cas."

Dean falls asleep listening to the gentle thrum of Castiel's heartbeat, another wave of warmth coming over him when Cas kisses the top of his head.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!  
> feedback is appreciated~  
> (also - i need christmas prompts, if you've got any)  
> (also i don't do poetry, so sorry if this sucks.)  
> (and i haven't edited this yet, i just wanted to post something. mistakes will be fixed later)


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